


The Cycle of Hope and Hatred

by AstratheCatha



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, Arthur knows everything, Athur might be a little crazy, Dark Merlin, Gen, Good morgana, Magic Revealed, Not A Happy Ending, Reincarnation, not always, sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5881030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstratheCatha/pseuds/AstratheCatha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is an endless cycle. A cycle of birth. A cycle of death. A cycle of Destiny. A cycle of hope and hatred.</p>
<p>Or: the one where Arthur remembers everything and Merlin remembers nothing and the endings aren’t always happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cycle of Hope and Hatred

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my take on the reincarnation fic.... umm its a bit different. There are major character deaths. There are a lot of major character deaths. But none of them really last. You should still be warned. Also be warned, this is not a happy ending.
> 
> I did have a beta for this one. She is awesome. Her name is HunterPeverell.   
>  But any mistakes that are still there are completely my fault. I will fix all that are pointed out to me.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. But all of the other stories that are mention throughout are mine, even if they resemble other tales.

It's an endless cycle. Birth. Death. Rebirth. Again and again, until everything blurs together and my memories are lost to time. No beginning. No end. Just a cycle, turning and turning through time.

The details change. Sometimes he's my brother. Sometimes the wise old man, come to guide me through life. Sometimes just a babe in my arms. And sometimes she is there. Our sister cursed to hate the world. The others are there, waiting in background to play their part. The details change. But the end. Then always is the death. My sword through someone's chest. Death and rebirth.

It's interesting. When the Druids named him Emrys, they didn't realize how wrong and how right they were. He is not immortal. He can die. But he always comes back. He is always born again.

***

He wasn't always good. He wasn't always the hero of the story, the knight in the fairy tale. He wasn't always evil. He wasn't always the villain. His role always changed.

Power corrupts. But absolute power doesn't corrupt absolutely. It drives you to madness. Drives you to insanity and beyond. He could always fight that push. He didn't always want to. For all his power, he couldn't turn back time. Couldn't bring the dead back to life. It drove him mad, searching for that power. That was the only time she was happy. The only time she left the world on peaceful terms. 

But he wanted her back.

And so he searched, he tortured, he killed. And he went mad with power. He could do anything. That's what they always said. So why couldn't he do that? Why couldn't he bring back our sister?

He never found the answer. Or maybe he did, and that is why we are stuck in this endless cycle. Because he wanted something that he should not have had. 

I still remember that first time. The feeling of his blood on hands, seeing the madness fade from his eyes as his life, his soul drained out of him. Whispered words long forgotten. 

***

I contemplated telling him once. Or was it twice? I did it once. I don’t remember all that happened, but I remember that the pain it caused him, caused her, caused all of us was worse than anything that had happened before. I think about doing it again nonetheless. I think that maybe the pain would be worth it, to let us return to that happy time, when we were siblings. When we were happy. Then I remember, that it didn’t happen that way. That they didn’t believe me. That I was all alone with no one by my side to save a magic that would not, did not, save us. 

I may think about it. But I have never done it since. 

***

She told me once, so long ago, that she was sorry. That she regretted it all. All the people she killed, all the lives she spent wallowing ruin. She told me she remembered that time where she was at peace with the world. But she was dying, my sword through her chest. And she told me thank you. She died with a smile that time.

Then she was reborn, with no memory of what she had said.

***

I long for the days where she was just a ward in the king's castle and he was just my manservant. That was the only time, the only life, where he survived. He lived to see the next life. I still remember waking up in his arms, seeing his old and weathered face, hearing his words: “Welcome back, prat.”

He told me once, in that second lifetime, that he almost gave up. He almost didn't believe that I would return. Then he found Uther and his wife, or was it mistress? I can't remember anymore. Then I was born, and he had hope again.

***

It's funny how with all his power, with all his magic, he never remembered. I, of course, always remembered. Our sister remembered, sometimes. Sometimes the others did. And sometimes, on very, very rare occasions, everyone else did. But he, the most powerful of us all. He never remembered.

Sometimes the others would come to me. They would cry over what Destiny did to us. They would scream, shout, and rage over a power that they could not see, that they could not stop. They would try to change a story that has been happening long before humans even walk across the earth. When the beings that would be man were digging for termites with a stick. And I would turn my back on them. I would pretend that I had no clue as to what they were saying or doing. I would claim that they were the ramblings of the drunk. And part of my soul would break, just a tiny bit every time.

***

I wonder how I am still sane, if I am even sane at all.

***

I miss her, in those times she doesn't appear. I miss her despite the destruction she brings. But. But I think I'm happy when she wasn't reborn into the cycle. It means she is happy, somewhere else in the world. Because I know that she is out there, just not in the story. She is out there and she hasn't lost her innocence. Her happiness.

Her love.

***

I sometimes wonder why people remember the lives that they do, the parts of our story that they pass on, and the parts that they don't.

Is it because the full story is too sad to contemplate? The curse that is our endless cycle, the never-ending horror that is our lives too depressing to hear

Or is it that there is no end to the story? If the cycle never ends, then can't end. And how can you tell a story that isn't complete. How can you explain something that has no ending, whose meaning has long been lost, faded from the memory of man? How can you tell a fairy tale with no happily ever after?

Because that is what we are. We are no longer three siblings, three friends who had everything torn from them, even the ones they thought were closest to them. No, we are the stories you tell children before bed. We are the stories you tell around the campfire at night. We are the stories you read in books. We used to be real. We used to be living. We are a pale mockery of what we were, once so long ago that I cannot even remember, when magic was once new to the land.

***

I am Arthur Pendragon. The Once and Future King, destined to rise again when Albion needs me. But sometimes I just wish Albion would die, crumble into oblivion, so my brother and my sister could die, truly die. Could finally die in peace. So they would escape this endless cycle.

Maybe I am not sane after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I warned you. It was not a happy ending and they all die repeatedly. 
> 
> You should tell me what you thought. You should tell me how I did, so I can do better.
> 
> I haven't decided if I want to do more with this idea.


End file.
